This is Where We Start Again
by tai-chi-leigh
Summary: 5 times Percy cries when Annabeth should. Title credits to the Goo Goo Dolls' "Come to Me". Percabeth. AU.


**A/N: Sorry this took so long...but it turned out a lot lengthier than I originally planned so hopefully that makes up for the wait a little?! Hope you all enjoy :)**

**I. **

She's not scared. At all.

Her feet swing back and forth, knocking on the wooden bench as she waits. She's too short to touch the floor, but her dad says that if she eats her vegetables every single day _maybe_ by the time she's older they'll be able to. Annabeth doesn't fall for his tricks though, because she knows that within a few months they will. The tips of her sneakers already touch the floor if she points her toes, even.

Contemplating this distracts her for a moment, but soon enough she feels the familiar pricking behind her eyes and the warmth on her cheeks that is a telltale sign that she's about to cry—

—but she's not. She's five years old and she's not a baby. Only babies still cry.

The school nurse shuffles by and pats the top of Annabeth's head, giving her a distracted smile as she pulls out her car keys, ready to go home. The clock on the wall ticks lazily, and Annabeth forces herself not to do the math.

(But she does it anyway).

An hour. An hour isn't even that late. An hour is how long writing time is every day in school, and that always goes quickly. An hour is the amount of time it takes to drive to piano lessons and back when there's no traffic.

It's just that Annabeth feels small in the school office while all the adults race around to finish last-minute work for the day. A half-hour after the day ended, her kindergarten teacher had walked her down to the office and stuffed her in the corner on the bench, telling her to wait until her dad showed up.

At first she wasn't too bothered, but another half-hour later she feels sort of forgotten. The tears threaten again and she forces her gaze away from the clock to the office door. It has a little blinking light on it that changes color each time the door opens, and it makes her feel a little better to watch.

The next time the door opens the light turns blue, and a little boy walks in, tugging his backpack by one of the straps behind him. He's scrawny, and Annabeth judges that he's about her age, even though she's a few inches taller.

His short legs trudge over to the bench and he pulls himself up next to Annabeth, leaving his backpack on the floor next to hers. The little boy has a toy shark tucked under his arm and he's blowing bubble gum and—Annabeth smirks—that's probably why he's so much shorter than her. She guesses that he doesn't eat his vegetables every day.

The corner of her mouth twitches up into a smile. He's also got a sticker in his hair and his head seems disproportionately large for the rest of his body.

"You're never going to touch the floor if you keep chewing bubble gum," she informs him. "And you've also got a sticker in your hair."

He turns to her and Annabeth almost jumps at the color of his eyes. They're bright green—she doesn't think there's a Crayola color that exists that could match them.

His cheeks turn pink at her words and he rubs the back of his head until his hair stands up. Annabeth thinks that the word for his look is _goofy_, and she feels a giggle bubble to her lips.

The boy removes the toy shark from under his arm and waves it around, like it's swimming through the sea. His cheeks are still as bright as his eyes and he peeks up, almost shyly, at her again.

"I eat vegetables," he mumbles to his shark, and Annabeth can barely make out the words.

"Every day?"

"Yeah," he says, more confidently when he sees that she's not glaring at him. "Well, actually. Maybe not _every_ day."

She gives him a pointed look and he just grins.

"I eat them every day," she announces significantly, "my dad—"

Her lips tremble on the word dad. He's still not there yet.

"—tells me to eat them or else I won't grow."

His body shifts towards hers when her speech falters.

"You okay?" he asks, his eyes shining with concern.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not." He scoots across the bench until their shoulders are touching and he swings his legs leisurely. When he speaks again, his face is so close that their noses bump and his gaze is impossibly wide and sincere. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"You won't tell?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die, poke a needle in my eye."

He drags a stubby finger across his chest and raises his hand afterward, like he's pledging in front of a jury.

It looks legit enough to Annabeth.

"My dad is an hour late, I think he forgot about me. He does that sometimes."

The boy pulls back.

"He… forgot about you?" His voice is suddenly small, which Annabeth doesn't understand. She liked him better when he was happy. It made her feel happy, too.

"Well, he's busy a lot because my mom died, so sometimes he forgets that he has to pick me up from school."

Even though Annabeth was simply trying to justify her dad's lack of presence, the boy's face crumples. Tears well in his eyes, he pushes the hair on his forehead back, and he presses an arm over his face, like he's trying to block out the rest of the world.

And suddenly she hears quiet sobs. His whole frame shakes with silent vibrations, and Annabeth is very confused because it's _her_ problem and _he _shouldn't be the one crying about it.

She's not sure what to say, so instead she pulls his hand away from his face. His nose is bright red and he wipes it with his hand. Annabeth does her best not to reprimand him for that, since he's already crying.

"It's… okay?" she eventually stammers, though it sounds more like a question than a statement.

"But my mom never forgets me. And I don't have a dad, but I have a stepdad named Paul and he never forgets me either. Parents shouldn't forget their kids." He says it like it's science—like he wants to share with her every positive experience, every loving moment he's ever had. His voice is low and thick with emotion.

"Sometimes other things are more important," Annabeth tries again, but this time she's unsure about what she means.

"Nothing is more important than family. Not even vegetables. My mom tells me that every night. Well, without the vegetables part but yeah—"

"Okay," she replies, and she can almost feel the tears again so she busies herself with the zipper of her backpack.

"Can I be your family for now?" he asks, and it seems innocent enough to Annabeth.

"Sure."

"Promise?"

She meets his eyes and he meets hers.

"Cross my heart."

* * *

**II. **

Annabeth knows the exact moment that Percy surpasses her in height.

It seems to happen overnight. One day she's teasing him that he'll never be _quite_ as tall as she is, and the next day he is (actually even taller, though she blames the extra half-inch on his un-brushed hair).

Though she doesn't really comment on it, she notices a lot of things about Percy—like the way his baby fat recently turned into muscle. Or the way that he's tall and lanky now instead of short for his age. His limbs even seem to be a bit too long for his body, kind of like a baby animal, but over the past few weeks he has adjusted to his frame. His head is still big though, and Annabeth makes sure she reminds him at every opportunity.

More importantly, now that Percy is the taller person in their duo, Annabeth refuses to let him think he's better than her.

She's ten and highly competitive. Percy does his best to keep up with her.

It's summer now, and Annabeth takes advantage of her ample free time to accomplish a lot of her goals before Percy can: one of them being bicycle riding.

It's a Monday morning and Percy is too tired to bike, insisting that he'll just watch. They have a sort of unspoken agreement to spend every day of their summer together, so every morning she shows up at his house by 8:00am and dumps a bucket of ice water on Percy's head to wake him up. Unlike Percy, Annabeth is a morning person.

They're best friends. They have to balance each other out.

They also don't talk about it much, but Annabeth doesn't particularly like being at home. Her dad and her stepmom work throughout the summer so she's left alone more often than not. When they are home, they fight, and Annabeth is often caught in between the screaming.

It's sort of an unspoken agreement that she can come over to Percy's whenever she wants. He takes away her worries with infectious smiles and by giving her plenty of turns on his bicycle.

It seems like friendship to Annabeth.

Since she doesn't have a bike of her own, Annabeth doesn't mind riding alone because that allows her more time to practice on his bike, without having to take turns. Plus, the Jackson house is on a quiet side street and it has a really good hill.

The sun is shining and Percy is giving her two thumbs up and she's _sure_ this is the day that she'll get it.

"Sneakers?"

"Check."

"Helmet?" She holds out her hands and he tosses her his blue one. She puts it on and closes it with a satisfying _snap_. "Check."

"Bicycle?" Annabeth pushes the bike by the handlebars into the middle of the street and eyes the seat (which she admittedly had to lower an inch because her legs are shorter than Percy's).

"All set."

"Okay… here we go." Annabeth sprints along next to the bike, taking a few big bounds before launching herself into the seat.

"A very fancy move there, Miss Chase," he teases, watching her wobble precariously from one side of the road to the other.

"Yeah yeah, keep your jaw closed," she retorts, managing to stick her tongue out at him while still keeping her eyes on the road.

Annabeth pushes hard against the peddles, gaining momentum. All of a sudden she picks up enough speed so that she's no longer tipping from side to side, but driving straight.

Out of her peripheral vision, she sees Percy shoot up off the ground and raise his hands in cheer.

"I… I'm doing it!" she shouts, grinning as she turns a sharp corner and bikes up the hill. At the top, she makes another turn and leans to her left, allowing her foot to drag on the ground and bring the bike to a halt. She peers down the hill and gives a _hmmph _of approval at the fact that Percy looks tiny from where she's standing.

"Here we go," she mutters to herself, pushing off with both legs.

And then she's weightless.

The street flashes around her in blues and greens, the shapes becoming more and more abstract as she peddles faster. She feels like she's flying. Victory is hers.

It's made even better by the fact that she can hear Percy clapping for her from the side of the street.

She approaches the bottom and presses the break tentatively, wincing at the screech the tires make on the pavement. By the time she reaches Percy she has slowed considerably. He gets to his feet and jogs alongside the bike.

Feeling particularly expert on the bike, Annabeth takes her eyes off the road to look at him.

"Did you see that Percy? It was _so _fast! I was flying. It was amazing. I'm gonna do it again and—"

"Annabeth?"

"—this time I'll go even faster. Maybe I'll even—"

"Annabeth."

"Percy aren't you at all excited? I just _flew _down that hill like we've been talking about all—"

"Annabeth!"

Percy lunges for the bike, just as the helmet falls off her head and slides over her eyes. All of a sudden the world goes dark, and Annabeth tries to take one hand off the handlebars to tip it back, but it causes the bike to jolt sideways.

She feels Percy's hand brush against her arm, but he's too slow and she's riding at an angle where he can't get a grip on the bike. Her arms shake with nervous energy and she continues to fly blindly forward.

"Hit the breaks!"

The advice just registers in her mind before she slams into the curb. She feels weightless again (this time, a different sort of weightless), before she lands with a painful _thud_ on the pavement, her elbow grazing the hot asphalt.

She tips the helmet back and squints against the sunlight, her body still numb. Then the throbbing in her arm hits her.

"Ouch."

The words are barely out of her mouth before Percy is beside her. The bike hand landed on her leg in the crash, and he tosses it off.

Annabeth winces as it skids a few feet away. The handlebars are twisted at a really weird angle, and an overwhelming sense of guilt washes over her.

She just ruined his bike.

"Percy. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to do that—"

She feels like she should be crying, the tears threaten to choke her and she can barely push the words past her lips.

"OhmygodAnnabethareyouokay?" The sentence comes out in one breath as he squats down beside her.

"The bike, Percy. I ruined it." She's too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god." He repeats it over and over.

"I know. I'm really sorry. I'm really really sorry."

"You're bleeding Annabeth. You're bleeding so much."

And all of a sudden, she's acutely aware of the pain that sears from her elbow to her shoulder. And the blood. It's everywhere. Her shirt is stained red around the collar and she can't see the actual wound on her arm because it's covered in a layer of thick red liquid.

The sight makes her vision slide a little, so she glances up at Percy instead.

His hands are balled into fists at his side, and his face is pale, which she doesn't understand because he had a good summer tan. He shifts forward and his knee presses into her side. She can feel it shaking.

"I'm okay," she insists, because she doesn't like the look on his face.

"You're not okay," he stammers out, and his voice is shaking too. His hair hangs loosely around his face—it's far too long, he definitely needs a haircut— and she's tempted to push it back. "You probably need stiches."

The idea of stiches makes her stomach lurch, but she hides it under a brave face. It's just a scratch. Percy, on the other hand, makes little effort to hide his emotions. His face is a cross between guilty and grief stricken, which makes Annabeth confused.

"I'm carrying you inside," he decides.

"That's silly, I just hurt my arm," she counters.

But she doesn't argue too much, because she can tell Percy is about to cry from the way his bottom lip is trembling and his eyebrows are puckered up and his gaze is anywhere but on her face.

She feels one of his arms slide underneath her legs, and she picks herself up off the ground with her good arm so that he can slide the other underneath her back.

With a grunt and a few wobbles he's standing up, carrying her bridal style.

It's a bit awkward, and Annabeth isn't sure if she's supposed to thank him for it or punch him in the arm and tease him.

She settles on the second, and decides it's a good idea when Percy's face clears up and he gives her a weak smile.

"You didn't tighten my helmet," he comments as he kicks open the front door to his house.

She snorts. "I knew your big head would get me into trouble someday."

* * *

**III. **

She's not entirely sure where she's walking until she ends up at his house.

All she can register is that she's hurt. Really, really hurt. She should probably be crying.

But this isn't the kind of hurt that she's used to. Nothing is bleeding, or stinging, or burning. It's different. She feels like someone gutted her stomach and laughed while doing it.

She rings the doorbell and leans against the bright blue doorframe. Maybe she should have called, considering it's close to midnight, but then she remembers that she hadn't intended to show up at Percy's house until she arrived.

Sally answers the door, blinking back sleep. When she sees Annabeth she looks relieved at first, but her expression changes as she takes in the girl's condition.

"Oh my god, Annabeth." She opens her arms to offer a hug, but Annabeth just sort of stands there. She doesn't really want to be touched.

"Percy?"

"He's upstairs, I don't think he's asleep yet."

"Thanks, Sally."

"Of course. And Annabeth? Let me know if I can do anything for you, okay? Anything."

"Okay."

She walks up the stairs, and he's already waiting outside his room.

"What happened?"

Annabeth brushes by him, and throws her stuff onto his already-cluttered desk.

"Luke is an asshole. Does it need more explanation? I should have known, I guess, that he was still dating Julia, I should have figured it out." Her face is hot, her hands tight at her sides, her anger directed partly at Luke and partly at herself.

"Oh my god, Annabeth."

"This is so ridiculous and high school-ish, and I feel like such an idiot. It's no wonder he likes Julia, after all, she's everything I'm not. He literally didn't show up to the date Percy. He just _left _me. And here I am, yelling about it like I'm stupid and didn't expect it, like I actually thought he liked me."

It's there, under the words. She can feel the hatred in every nerve. He didn't _want_ her. There's always someone else a little better, it seems.

Percy is visibly upset, too. It's easy to see. His weight is shifted forward on his feet, his arms crossed over his chest. When she finishes talking, he kicks the chair next to his desk.

"I _knew _he was no good for you. I _knew_ it. God Annabeth, I wish you'd have listened. He's a bastard, goddammit, I'm going to fuck him up on Monday. _Why_ didn't you listen, I could've told you weeks ago that he was messed up, I'm telling you—"

"Okay, Percy. I get it."

"No, you don't get it. There are so many better guys for you."

"I didn't come here for you to rub it in, okay?" she snaps. It's not like she's that upset about what happened between her and Luke. More, the fact that she always seems to screw up when it comes to being close to people. Her mouth is bitter. It's that people always seem to want to get away from her.

Percy looks at her, shocked.

"Don't give me that look, Percy. You don't always know what's best for me."

His eyes are red around the rims.

"I'm your best friend," he says, and his voice cracks. "We're family, Annabeth."

He's doing what he always does, pushing his way under her skin. Making her feel like she can block out her problems with one of his hugs.

She's grown up, now. This isn't physical pain. This goes much deeper.

"Maybe we're not." Her voice is steel. She doesn't recognize it.

"How… how can you say that?" He sits down on the bed tentatively, like it'll break under his weight. His eyes are peeled back, he's squinting against the dim light of his room as if he's not sure she's actually in front of him. "Nothing is more important than family."

She remembers when he said that to her first, when their friendship had just started. Then, it had made her feel better.

Now, it makes her feel worse, like he's using the words against her. She can't help thinking that it signified the beginning of their friendship many years ago, and now it signifies the end.

"Don't talk to me like that," she spits.

"Like _what_, Annabeth? Where is this coming from?"

"It's coming from the fact that we're not actually family Percy. We can pretend all we want. We can spend every ounce of free time together, we can have a million inside jokes and a million memories but we're _not _actually family. Because everyone close to me leaves me behind."

He shoots up from his bed. He's openly angry now, and Annabeth can't find it in her to feel bad. Her emotions are bottomless but empty at the same time.

"I can't believe you. I can't believe you're comparing _our _friendship and what we have to what you had with Luke. You're taking out whatever problems you have with your family and with Luke on me. I've never left you, Annabeth."

"Don't you _dare _say that to me."

She turns on her heels, grabs her bag, and walks toward the door.

And suddenly his hand is on her shoulder, his eyes are wide, and she can see the devastation written in his gaze and the set of his shoulders.

"I'm sorry to bring up your family like that."

The apology is sincere, and Annabeth knows it.

And maybe it's his hand on her shoulder. Maybe it's the look he's giving her now that makes something inside her snap.

Maybe it's the fact that after all these years, she's not really sure how she feels about him.

"Yeah, well, you did."

"I'm sorry," he says, like the words can somehow fix this. Like the conversation can be sealed back up and they can pretend it never happened. Like a hug or a smile can make it all better, just like when they were little.

Like his tears will be enough for hers.

"Me too," she replies, though it doesn't sound as genuine as his. "We're both going off to college in two months—in different states. This was going to have to happen anyway."

"It _doesn't_ have to happen, Annabeth." He's pleading with her now. "I love you."

She's not sure what he means by that, but she's sure that she doesn't want him saying those words under this condition.

This is _not_ how it's supposed to happen.

He meets her gaze like he's searching for the same thing to be written across her forehead.

She's not sure what he finds.

Taking extra care to be gentle, she brushes his hand off her shoulder. Her voice is lower, now, a little bit more herself.

"You can't cry for me every time something bad happens. Your tears don't fix my problems, Percy. I think this _does _have to happen, for both of us."

He recoils, like it stings. Maybe physical pain and emotional part aren't all too different. He doesn't answer, though. She thinks it's better that way.

She opens the door and leaves, and perhaps the worst part of it all is Sally's face when she lets Annabeth out.

* * *

**IV. **

The first thing Annabeth is aware of is the horrible taste in her mouth.

The second thing she's aware of is the sterilized white room, the indistinct white curtains, the smell of antiseptics—that all scream hospital.

The third thing she's aware of is a dull ache in her head, a bandage placed just above her left eyebrow, and two giant casts on her legs.

_Shit._

And finally she notices the figure on her right, slumped against the wall, drooling slightly.

Out of everything, it's him that makes her stomach twist uneasily.

He's a lot tanner than she remembers him, and he definitely gained a few inches. His limbs are still long, but his shoulders have filled out. She sees muscle and bulk under his UCLA t-shirt.

It's the first time she's seen him in a year. Though she'd never admit it, she _did_ look at all of his pictures on Facebook and she knew he had gotten more mature looking, but—

—yeah, the photos didn't really do him justice.

She's not sure if she should try to wake him up, but the thought of conversation, of actually trying to make up for an entire year of radio silence, makes her pause.

Instead, a nurse makes the decision for her when she walks into the room, gives a cluck of surprise when she sees Annabeth is awake, and shuffles out to call for the doctor with a _'We were expecting you to wake up soon, sweetie!'_

And in the commotion, Annabeth sees Percy out of the corner of her eye jump awake, wipe the drool off of his face, and fixate on a point just above Annabeth's head.

She almost smiles at that.

The room is quiet, she can hear him breathing from a few feet away. She feels a thousand things left unsaid weighing in between them like bricks.

She's determined to fix what she messed up, though.

He looks at her, and the full breadth of how much she missed him slams into her like—she thinks, ironically—a car.

"Hi, Percy." Even saying his name hurts a little.

"After a year of not talking, I should probably say something else to you but," he smiles coyly, but fragile at the same time, "you look like shit."

He pulls his chair next to her bedside automatically, like he's not crossing some great distance, an invisible barrier that separated them for months.

He's next to her, and they're best friends all over again.

"I would say likewise, but you look great," she says.

"I don't _feel _great, exactly."

"Better, now?"

"Yeah."

She doesn't have to ask to know exactly what he means by that. It's there in every word, in his body language, and the way he's pressed up against her bed so he can't get any closer unless he sits on top of her.

The flood of emotions is still heavy on her chest, and with each concerned look he flashes her way, she's scared the wall she's built up in the past year will crack.

"How long have you been here?" she asks, not sure how long the issue can be avoided.

He tilts his head sideways slightly, and it's immediately all too familiar to her.

"You got into the crash yesterday. Your dad called me after he got to the hospital—he was here earlier, by the way, he just had to take care of a few things for work. But Annabeth, he's really worried about you, I swear."

"Okay." She can believe that.

"And so I flew from California to JFK on the first flight. Well, I showed up at the airport looking probably hysterical, so they put me on the first flight. The whole plane ride I was listening to the Beatles because I know you like them. And then I took a cab to here and didn't have enough money but I think the cab driver was feeling slightly sympathetic when I told him why I was coming so it turned out okay in the end and—"

His voice shakes. She knows it's coming, now. Part of her wants to hide, but she's also ready to face this.

"It's good to see you, Percy."

"Same to you, I mean, not to see you like this but just to see you at all and Annabeth—"

He's crying now. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat.

"—you're so hurt, Annabeth."

He presses his arm over his eyes like he did when he was little, when he was trying to block out everything around him. Maybe he does it because he doesn't want her to see him crying.

And just like when she was little, she reaches down to pry his arm away.

"Hey, hey Percy. I'm okay."

"I'm sorry I'm crying," he wheezes out, the words uneven and slurred.

Her heart clenches painfully.

"I'm over that," she says, because it's true.

She missed this. She missed him.

"When I got the phone call, they said you were unconscious. They said you had severe internal bleeding. They said both your legs were broken. Jesus, Annabeth. I thought I was going to lose you." He talks into the hospital bed sheet, and it's difficult to hear him.

It hurts even more because she thought she had already lost him.

"And all I could think about was how we left it, last time we talked. How that conversation was going to be the last one we had. How we never spoke after that. No calls, no texts, nothing. Annabeth, I stared at my phone for an _hour _on your birthday. I rewrote apologies a thousand times in my head."

She wants to say the same thing back; it's there, the same speech, bubbling on her lips, pressed against her tongue. It's the same speech she has written on a Word document for eventually, but eventually had never come. It's the same speech she feels in every smile she's given in the past year.

But she's also not great with words, especially when it comes to Percy.

She pulls his hands into hers and gives them a squeeze, to let him know she feels the same. She's pretty sure he understands.

He rubs his eyes, squares his jaw, and _looks _at her, like he's recharging from all the times he hasn't seen her in the past year.

"I miss you in my life." He says it deliberately slowly, like he's taking extra care to make sure the words are evenly spaced. "So much."

She smiles at him softly. She was stupid to think that this couldn't be repaired.

When it comes to her and Percy, yes, there are bumps in the road. This one happened to be bigger than the others. But there's nothing that can't be fixed.

"I think," she begins, and the words linger, "that it's not possible for you to have missed me more than I missed you."

He smiles at her like she's the sun and this—this, she definitely missed.

"But then again, you _were_ always a sap so I can't be completely sure, can I?" she adds, to let him know that they're the same as always.

He gives her a mock look of horror with the same inflections, the same crease in his eyebrows. Granted, he's older and bigger and she assumes more mature (though that's questionable), but he's still just like she left him.

"I love you Annabeth," he says, his tone—shy?

And though it's not ideal timing for him to say this to her again, she figures that with her and Percy, perfect timing doesn't exactly exist.

Or maybe perfect timing just comes in a different form.

"Yeah, yeah, scream if off the rooftops, like you haven't made it obvious enough already. Family, and all that—"

"—no, Annabeth. I _love _you."

"Percy," she begins, with the same tone she used when she was little and telling him he had a sticker in his hair. She can't help but notice how sweaty his palms have become in between hers. Or maybe hers are the sweaty ones. He's so cute; it aches in the way she's been missing for the past year. Her voice is carefully neutral, because that's the only way she knows how to say this. "I love you too. I think we've known this for a while now, haven't we?"

* * *

**V. **

"EVERYONE MOVE. MY WIFE IS HAVING A BABY. SHE'S HAVING A BABY."

If Annabeth wasn't in too much pain to throw a punch, then surely a couple would have been aimed Percy's way by now.

The throbbing in her stomach is relentless, and every few minutes the contractions return. On one hand, she's thankful that Percy is supporting nearly her entire weight as he half carries, half drags her into the hospital.

On the other hand, he's screaming in her ear and he's a shaking mess. His face is flushed and hot and his fingers are gripping her arm so tightly that the blood is no longer making it to her hand. She's supposed to be the one freaking out. She needs someone calm, someone supportive.

If it weren't for her enormous belly and the pain that racks her body every few minutes, she'd think Percy was the one in labor.

"SOMEONE BRING A WHEELCHAIR ALREADY. THIS IS RIDICULOUS."

All heads in the room turn their way, and Annabeth is about to stifle an embarrassed groan into Percy's shoulder before the contractions start again, causing her to bow over and clutch her stomach in agony.

"Percy," she mumbles through gritted teeth, "calm down. Take deep breaths. And get me a goddam wheelchair before I _murder_ you."

He takes a deep breath.

"Good." Annabeth feigns her most soothing voice. "Just like that."

If only he knew how close she is to ripping his hair out…

"Okay. I'm okay," Percy asserts, visibly calming a little.

Annabeth lets a muted cry of pain out of the back of her throat.

"_Wheelchair, _Percy. Focus."

"Right. Wheelchair. Right."

And suddenly the nurse is behind Annabeth, lowering her gently into the chair. Annabeth pushes her sticky hair up into ponytail and reaches weakly for Percy's hand.

All she's aware of is the pain searing from her stomach, down her back, to the tips of her toes. Every ounce of pre-baby nerves is gone, replaced by a much more present set of worries.

By the time she's brought to a hospital bed, the nurses are talking rapidly to Percy. She can see him nodding in response, but his eyes are on her and she's pretty sure all the information is going in one ear and out the other.

"Oh my god. Oh my _god_," Annabeth groans, throwing her head back into the pillows and covering her eyes with her forearm.

"OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD," Percy rushes to her side, nearly knocking over the nurses with his wild, flailing limbs. He slides to his knees on the side of her bed, grabbing her hands and pressing them in between his.

He's swaying gently on his knees, and Annabeth is suddenly worried that he's going to pass out.

Part of her can't wait to tease him about this later, but a larger part of her is _so_ frustrated that he just _can't, for once, actually just not freak out and be normal and—_

"AHHHH," she screams, gripping his hands tightly.

"AHHHHHHHH," he screams back.

Annabeth manages to glance over at their hands, which are a white bundle hanging over the bed. She's not sure who's squeezing tighter, her or Percy, but she's thankful for the distraction for a moment.

And the suddenly she's being told to push, and all she can focus on is Percy's face, drenched with sweat. His pupils are tiny, his face pale and bright red at the same time, his lips purple from either stress or lack of oxygen.

If that's how he looks, she can't imagine how horrible she must be right now.

"Breathe, breathe," a nurse chants, a hand placed on Percy's shoulder.

Annabeth questions exactly whom she's talking to.

The room is filled with a harmony of screams. Each time she shouts, Percy's voice parrots hers.

It's frustratingly charming, she supposes, through the haze of childbirth.

She's not sure how much later—it could be hours or seconds—before she gives one final scream, her voice scratchy and broken. Percy's yell follows, and then the air shatters with the screeching of a newborn baby.

"Ohmygod."

"Ohmygod."

She feels Percy shift next to her, and suddenly his lips are lingering next to her ear.

He presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of her jaw.

"I love you," he mumbles against her neck.

"Mmph, yeah. 'S nice."

He chuckles low and breathy.

The baby is placed in her arms, and Annabeth falls against the pillows.

Their daughter's eyes are bright green, just like Percy's. She's the most beautiful thing Annabeth has ever seen.

"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Percy whispers, and all Annabeth can do is laugh.

Percy reaches a hand out and tentatively strokes her head. The baby reaches for his hands, and wraps an entire tiny fist around one of his fingers. Her laughter echoes through the room, big, wonderful peals of laughter that rise and fall like waves.

Percy leans forward, his huge head blocking Annabeth's view of the baby. She shifts to the side, lifting their daughter so that the baby is in between the two of them.

He glances up, and his eyes are on her.

"_We _did this Annabeth. We did this."

She smiles at him. There will be _plenty _of time to tease him about exactly how she feels about that statement later.

"Nothing is more important than family," she says instead.


End file.
